


Facade

by crookedspoon



Series: Exchange Fics [26]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Hand Jobs, Identity Porn, M/M, POV Dick Grayson, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 04:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18541840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: Dick goes undercover at a strip club. He should have expected Bruce to show up one day and meddle.





	Facade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kmfillz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmfillz/gifts).



> Many thanks to [LightningHope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningHope/pseuds/LightningHope) and [Volavi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volavi/pseuds/Volavi) for the excellent beta!

The VIP room they're escorted to is dimly lit by red paper lanterns, and it reminds Dick of Japanese street vendors. The sight would have ruined the mood – if the mood hadn't already been as tense as the skin pulled over a taiko drum. His heart is pounding with the beat of one.

Dick nearly starts when he spots the bed on the other side of the room, but he manages to keep his drugged-out facade up. ("Want a hit before you go in?" Freddie, the bouncer who got him this particular gig, had approached him earlier with a tray full of pills that were stained in electric blues and sizzling greens and buzzing purples from the stage lights. "Sure, thanks!" Dick had said in the bubbly voice that fooled everyone into thinking he was an airhead. He takes one, pretending to swallow it. In reality, he wants to pocket it for testing. He suspects it's Ecstasy, used to facilitate backroom deals with less than willing participants, but laced with something more potent than that. So far, he hadn't been able to learn much. None of the dancers were able to tell him about what goes on in the special VIP rooms – they're sent away before business matters are discussed, as though trade secrets were too valuable even for a stripper's ears.)

So much for confirming his suspicions.

He sways in after Bruce, whose hand is still burning on his very naked and very oiled up side as he steers him like he would steer socialites at a seasonal gala. Dick ignores how it keeps slipping lower, like a tentative caress, and focuses on dragging his feet just enough to make him seem out of it, but not enough for him to actually break his ankles on these killer heels.

"Talk," Bruce says the moment he deems them out of earshot.

"What do you want to talk about, handsome?" Dick asks with an undertone of _Shouldn't you be the one talking? I was here first!_ as he presses Bruce's back against the closed door. Short of sweeping the room, he can't tell if there are any bugs, so it is vital to keep both their covers intact. "My childhood? traumatic events? what compelled me to do this – to become a stripper?"

Bruce grabs his arms, trying to keep him at a safe distance even though safe, at this point, has become relative. Already Dick is a lot closer to Bruce than he has ever been outside of martial arts training. And a lot more naked, too.

"No, no. Don't sweat it, I get that a lot," he coos and winds his arms around Bruce's neck. "My answer? Daddy issues, I guess. I wanted to prove that I didn't need his money. That I could take care of myself."

Dick delights in the subtle shift in Bruce's stance, like he was steeling himself for battle. It's nothing anyone's eyes would catch if they saw him unless they were experts in the art of observation and knew what to look for.

"You remind me of him, you know? That air of command? Gives me the shivers. I've had my _eyes on you_ ever since you came in."

Code for: _there are cameras in this room._ One is quite conspicuously placed above the door, like in the VIP rooms he's used to: sticky floors and a single ratty chair in the center, where Dick would gyrate over a horny guy's crotch for tips. There, the cameras are meant to ensure the safety of the dancers, to broadcast to staff and customer alike that they are being watched so they better not do anything stupid.

Here, the message might be similar, but the presence of the bed has Dick's nerves on edge. Strip joints aren't whorehouses and if the dancers wanted to prostitute themselves they set up meets outside of their place of employment. Or so it usually goes.

This, however, reeks of a bigger venture – one he is here to untangle.

Which is why he is not happy to see Bruce.

His presence suggests that he doesn't trust Dick to do his job. This is police business, after all, not some after-hour vigilante snooping and Bruce's interference could likely jeopardize everything. So he better have a good reason to be barging in on Dick's case.

"So what brings you here, handsome?" Dick says as he takes Bruce's hand and leads him to the bed like a dog on a leash. (Dick is not going to admit it, but the image appeals.) "Business or pleasure?"

"If you had cared to listen earlier, you'd know it's business," Bruce grunts, sinking down onto the edge of the bed and using the hand clasped in Dick's to pull him down onto his lap again.

Dick just nods vacuously and follows.

Earlier that night, Freddie had approached Dick with a special offer: "They're having a business associate in, a guy who crunches numbers like a magician. Likes pretty things, too, so I was asked to approach anyone on the floor who'd be interested in the gig and I figgered, since you're so popular out here, you might wanna earn a few extra bucks tonight."

"So sweet of you to think of me," Dick said and cuffed his shoulder playfully. On every job, he tries to get the people working behind the scenes to trust him by being chummy and sweet, but not too bright. "How much we talking?"

In truth, he was less interested in the money than the guy they were bringing in. Business associate, huh? What kind of business, Dick wondered. This sounded like the in he had been waiting for. So of course Dick jumped at the chance without thinking twice about it.

On his precariously high heels, he teetered through the door Freddie held open and would have felt a lot more exposed than on the darker floor outside if the whiff of a sharply familiar cologne hadn't caught his attention. Dick kept his face pleasantly neutral even as a vein throbbed in his temple. It was the kind of scent Bruce uses for his sleazy business personas, the ones you'd readily invite to cook your books.

And sure enough, he came face to face with the man as he dropped himself into his lap. Those silly glasses perching on the bridge of his nose and that neatly combed hairstyle did nothing to disguise the man if you knew all his makeup tricks – if anything, it reminded him of Clark – but it did give him an air of authenticity. It practically screamed numbers-savvy pervert and another time Dick would have taken deep satisfaction in commenting on it.

Now wasn't the time or place, however.

"Hey there, handsome," he husked and stroked a palm over Bruce's dress shirt, "mind if I sit with you for a bit?"

A part of Dick delighted in the way Bruce stiffened in response to Dick's presence, another part was alarmed. Any indication that they knew each other could potentially be dangerous and cost them both; they _could_ pretend to have met before, but Dick is not aware of all the particulars of Bruce's disguise so it would be too much of a stab in the dark.

Bruce recovered quickly, much to Dick's displeasure and relief. And in any case, Bruce's reaction could easily be chalked up to genuine surprise at suddenly having someone slide into his lap. Dick shouldn't be overthinking this.

"Not at all, sweetcheeks," he said in a smarmy accent, gripping Dick's chin and twisting his head from side to side. "You're just the kind of pretty that I like."

Bruce surprised him by putting a hand on his ass.

Despite himself, Dick flushed. He was used to a lot of comments about his appearance, ranging from the genuine to the positively indecent, and going by the standards of his top ten, this one was more on the innocent side.

Grasping Bruce's wrist, Dick peered uncertainly at the guy sitting across from them, a heavyset man with so many gold rings encrusting his knuckles he'd put a leprechaun to shame. He wasn't the owner, but Dick had seen him shake hands with him enough times to surmise that he had some authority, at least back here. Groping the staff wasn't allowed. Usually. But deals could be made if the dancers were willing.

Dick had been meaning to find out how far those deals extended.

Chewing on his cigar, the guy spread his hands in a gesture that Dick chose to interpret as _Do what you will._

So, great. On the one hand, it meant that shady dealings were definitely going on back here, but on the other: he couldn't remove Bruce's hand without calling attention to it.

Dick resigned himself to smiling vacantly and ignoring his thudding heart that admonished him not to let this happen. _(This is Bruce, for Christ's sake.)_ He came here to do a job, damn it, and he wouldn't let Bruce interfere with it.

As the evening wore on, Dick tried to decipher the coded language Bruce was trading with the beringed man in his pinstripe suit, while appearing to not be doing anything other than squirming in Bruce's lap and letting himself be fondled. Two bodyguards were stationed at the door off to the side and although they stood still like statues, they let their eyes roam over Dick's body like he was nothing more than a pretty piece of meat.

He tried to ignore it, but it was difficult.

The great disadvantage of his stage outfit – a tiny thong that just barely covered his modesty – was that he can't downplay his body's reactions at all. If he stiffened, he stiffened for all to see. All – which included Bruce. Not that Dick could focus on that or the shame and embarrassment it brought.

Instead, with roguish delight, he focused on the effect _he_ was having on _Bruce._ Leaning in just so, he could feel the outline of Bruce's cock against his knee. His very hard cock. It was strangely reassuring to learn that the old Bat was human after all and subject to his own body chemistry like the rest of them.

From their talk, Dick thought he had just pieced together that this enterprise was about much more than just illegal prostitution, which had been his suspicion from the start.

"If you don't mind," Bruce said all of a sudden, fondling Dick's ass, "I'd like to sample this one first."

"I'm afraid this one isn't for sale," Pinstripes said, puffing out a cloud of smoke. "Unless he wants to be."

Dick bristled a little at being referred to as 'this one', as if he weren't there at all or couldn't hear them, but thought it wise to play along. He should be glad to be dismissed as just another rookie stripper who was too high out of his mind to pay any attention to the goings-on here.

"How about five grand to get to know each other better?" Bruce addressed him and nipped at his jaw.

"Sounds like just about enough, handsome," Dick answered, pretending to have been roused from his stupor. The shiver that ran through him, however, he didn't have to fake.

"Be my guest, then," Pinstripes said magnanimously.

This is how Dick finds himself in Bruce's lap again, straddling it this time, which makes hiding his damned arousal a lot more difficult than before. The bed isn’t helping, it’s just making Dick hyperaware of what it’s supposed to be used for.

But with enough grinding he manages to make Bruce's own erection be felt again. At least that evens things out between them.

"You said you wanted to get to know each other better," Dick says, pulling Bruce flush against him by his lapels, head craned up and lips brushing against his own. "Is this what were you thinking of?"

"Almost."

It irks Dick how Bruce shows no sign of alarm but that he has this air of bland amusement and superiority about him that comes from owning money and knowing how to use to get people to do whatever he wants.

It's as if he's not dealing with Bruce at all but merely someone inhabiting his body. It's uncanny, but come what may, Dick is not going to trip up either. Else he is never going to hear the end of it, how he lacks the professionalism to compartmentalize his feelings and shouldn't be in the field.

It's always about the mission with Bruce. But guess what? To Dick, this is also about the mission. He has sacrificed too much already to back down now and if he had to get a little frisky with Bruce to get to the bottom of it, then so be it.

This would never have happened if Bruce hadn't decided to waltz in on Dick's turf as if he owned the place.

Grabbing a fistful of Bruce's hair, he brings his lips to Bruce's ear and murmurs as softly as he can, "I hope you can find it in you to forgive me for this, but I need this to look real."

Moaning loud and long to distract any potential listener from what he'd just said, he slips his other hand between them and deftly opens Bruce's fly. It's Bruce's turn to grab Dick's hair as Dick's hand disappears in the opening to cup Bruce's bulging erection. Fuck, but it's been a while since Dick had the pleasure of stroking a length that wasn't his own. He can't help but moan again, for real this time. The dual sensation of having someone tug at his hair and of touching another's skin so intimately is enough to set his nerves on fire.

He's wearing nothing and yet suddenly it's like he's sweating from every pore.

Bruce's cock feels so good twitching and growing to full hardness in his hand. If this were anyone but Bruce, he might have begged to have this thick cock buried inside him. In fact, he all but squirms back against Bruce's teasing fingers at his crack, wishes he'd just curl them right into Dick's tight ass, work them in and out until Dick is a shaking mess, wishes he'd throw him onto the mattress and plow into him like he deserves.

Dick gasps with the force of that desire. Too late he realizes that bottling up desires is never a good idea, not when they come crashing over you like a flood once the stopper no longer holds.

 _He_ is not the one being stroked to completion although you might argue that he's so touch-starved a few caresses here and that might be enough to get him off.

Dick pushes Bruce flat on the mattress, so Bruce would no longer touch him. The only way to make this okay for Dick is if he derived no pleasure from it. So he strokes him without mashing his own cock against his pumping hand, but he's too weak to stop Bruce from gripping the tops of Dick's thighs.

Bruce's glasses are fogged up, askew on his nose, his eyes glassy and his hair mussed, and all throughout he's breathing hard, _because Dick is making him._

It hits Dick right in a part of himself he'd thought dead and buried but which keeps resurfacing like a corpse in the water, too mangled to be identifiable but a murder victim nonetheless.

Bruce barely gives him a warning when he comes, but Dick is prepared. Bruce's lips compress around a groan and his cock twitches in Dick's hand and Dick fights the urge to sink to his knees and swallow Bruce down, swallow the evidence of all this wrongness, and pretend he never sullied their relationship.

Yet somehow, despite the wrongness they had _already_ been through, using his mouth on Bruce still seems like a step too far.

Dick cups both his hands over the head of Bruce's cock, to stop it from spilling and ruining Bruce's suit. Under different circumstances he might find it hilarious to care about details like this, but even though he needed this to look authentic on camera, he doesn't want the reminder on Bruce's clothes, where everyone who cared to look would know what happened.

Bruce's come is hot against his palms, and sticky, and Dick doesn't know what to do with it. Wiping it off on the mattress seems crude. Surely there ought to be paper towels somewhere.

As Dick stares at his soiled hands, Bruce recovers.

"Do you want me to take care of this?" he asks, suddenly right in front of Dick's nose again, and Dick gasps when he touches him.

Bruce unhooks the fabric of Dick's thong (that by this time does nothing to hide anything anymore) from this throbbing erection and tugs it out of the way to curl his strong hand around Dick's hard length.

Dick nearly sobs. Patrons may grope him now and then, but it's not the kind of touch that sustains him. Bruce's hand around him feels glorious, warm and strong and reassuring, everything that Dick has ever wanted from Bruce, and Dick nearly comes just from thinking that.

Dick lets himself fall, both literally and metaphorically. Winding his legs around Bruce, he lowers his hands to the floor to push his body up, to bend him into a taut arch, neck bared to the opposite wall, as he ruts into Bruce's hand and pretends that Bruce is fucking him.

What makes this even more maddening is Bruce's warm hand stroking over his hips and his belly, sending pins and needles over his already tingling skin. Everything is hot and tightening and Dick can barely breathe from the intensity of it.

Bruce yanks Dick up as he's spasming and spurting his seed across his chest, to pull him against his shoulder and cradle his head in the crook of his neck.

"Now that we've gotten to know each other better," Bruce murmurs against Dick's ear while stroking the hairs at the nape of his neck, "I'd like to know why you're here."

Dick puffs out a breath, tired but with a dash of amusement, because this is just so like him. "You really do know how to ruin a good mood."

"A pretty thing like you can find employment anywhere. So why here?"

Although Dick does not appreciate this line of questioning, a warm shower of sparks washes over him at being called pretty, now that his defenses are down and he is unable to guard himself against it.

"My friends told me," Dick says, still catching his breath, "that I might find something good here."

"And did you?" This is the important question.

"I think I might, actually." Dick elaborates that would sound natural to anyone eavesdropping, while still cluing Bruce in on his investigation. "It's not the worst place, really. The other dancers are nice, although I feel like there are so many part-timers, I haven't met them all."

The message he wants Bruce to hear is that the turnover rate is high and that he has suspicions the guys making deals in the back are traffickers. When Pinstripe offered to let Bruce _sample the wares_ Dick had thought of drugs at first. Only now does it hit him that when Bruce suggested to sample Dick instead, he was signaling that he knew about the other wares they had on offer here and would not be disinclined. Perhaps he didn't even want Dick alone at all and Dick had put him on the spot by accepting his offer. Though if he had not wanted him to accept, he would kept his offer insultingly low. (On the other hand, Bruce has no real feel for money, so five grand might already be on the low end of the scale for him.)

"There's at least one new face every time I'm in town," Bruce says, running his hands down Dick's arms and back. "Seems like what this joint wants to offer is variety, not job security."

Dick nods, lulled by the soothing feeling of having his skin stroked. Sounds like Bruce understood all right.

"I still don't think this is the place for you," he continues. "You should come with me. Tonight. I'm always on the lookout for new talent."

Dick's eyes snap open at that. He doesn't know whether Bruce knows that something is about to go down here and wants to protect Dick, or if he simply wants him off the case.

"That's awfully kind of you, mister," he says, feeling a little bitter about it, "but I already have a daddy who thinks he can buy me. I don't need another. I'd rather take my chances here."

Dick's eyes widen as Bruce kisses him. It's like Dick's entire world comes to a halt for just a second before exploding in color and heat waves through his body. His hands wrench themselves into Bruce's suit and muss it up even harder.

"I'm sorry your daddy didn't treat you nicer," Bruce says in a gruff voice. "Think about it; my offer still stands."

He gnaws his bottom lip, oversensitive now that he has felt Bruce's mouth against his, as he considers his options. Was Bruce offering to work together again? Why would he think that's what Dick wanted?

No, Dick had a case to see through to the end and he hopes that Bruce didn't ruin his standing here. Hopes that by having taken Dick back here, he didn't open the door for other patrons to ask the same. Dick knows how to knock someone out and make them think they had the night of their lives, but a camera is less easy to convince. He would still have to fake _something_ for those.

"You didn't actually offer me anything," Dick says with a rueful grin. "Maybe if you'd started with that, I might have considered."

Dick untangles himself from Bruce, stands, and stretches. His face wrinkles when he feels the dried come on his chest. 

"That's not a no, mind you," Dick says with a softer grin and a hand squeezing his shoulder. "I just gotta take care of a few things here before I can decide. You understand that, don't you?"

Bruce nods, and for the first time that night, Dick seems to see a crack in his facade: a curling at the edge of his mouth, like the beginning of a fond smile.

Dick cuffs his shoulder as if to say, _Cut it out, you're making me blush,_ but he doesn't say anything. He turns around before his own face cracks and vanishes into the adjacent bathroom to clean up. He's lost his heels sometime during their tangle and his feet rejoice to have firm ground beneath them.

When he comes out, Bruce has tucked himself in and straightened out again. His suit is wrinkled beyond repair, however. There is no fixing that. 

Just as there's no fixing the ache in his chest. He can't bottle up that desire for Bruce again now that he has tasted what it could be like, nor does he want to.

All he wants is more of Bruce.


End file.
